One Little Piece of Paper

Life is a game of chess. Some win, others lose.

As I watch the days go by and listen as the grandfather clock ticks second by second, I am hypnotized and enter a different realm. As I enter this unknown territory, I realize that I am hardly myself. I no longer feel these heavy emotions that weigh me down like I have bricks tied to my ankles and I have been tossed into the deepest lake on the tiny earth we call home. It is bizarre to think that we are so tiny and there is so much more to the universe than us.

I am a stranger to myself. Is this even real? All I did was put a tiny piece of paper on my tongue and let it soak up my saliva and turn to mush. An hour in and that tiny paper has consumed me. It is the best feeling I could ever feel. All the weight on my shoulders has been lifted and I feel this sense of relief as I see what reality is.

Trees are more vibrant and the grass dances with me. The wind sings to me and the moon gives me all the advice I need. I take out my worn, torn black notebook from my backpack with my life’s meaningful possessions and begin to scribble. “For what is life? If before this paper everything was so dull and meaningless and hurtful, why is that reality? What are we living for?”

I have always perceived life as death. For in the very moment we are born, we are slowly awaiting the grim reaper to arrive and hand us death. What this tiny paper has done for me, I have never been able to do for myself. It is so confusing to think that the government keeps this from us. It is something that I wish I could feel at all times. I sit here, staring at a blank wall as it stares back. The blank wall does not seem so empty as it twirls and swirls and waves to me as if I am greeting it for the first time. I continue to scribble words in my precious black notebook, “The answer to life is not what is worth living for, but what is worth dying for.”

One is never truly living until one can accept death for what it is and all that it holds. It is glorious, death. Oh, how in death there is no pain, no struggle, no confusion on what we are expected to do with this afterlife. Life itself seems to be more like death than death itself. Life is tiring and painful. Life is challenging and messy. Life is competition and stress. Life is death. Whereas death is really life. Death is painless and peaceful. Death is a new beginning to what you make it. There is no competition. There is no stress. Death seems so beautiful and life appears so chaotic.

As I sit on my back porch, still dancing with the grass and singing with the wind, I enter a different dimension. In this other world, I am everything I have ever wanted to be. I am beautiful in my own eyes. I am confident and comfortable. I am happy and glowing. I am everything I have ever wanted to be. I continuously pull out my black notebook and answer the questions I have been asking myself. I begin to doodle how the trees really are, in all their vibrancy. I sketch the gorgeous moon that advised me of everything I needed to know in that exact moment. I still sway with the grass as it has not stopped dancing since this paper took over the controls within me.

This new world is so amazing, and I cannot imagine myself ever wanting to leave. I have everything I have ever wanted. That is until I saw it coming. There was a strange darkness approaching. Not like the calming approach of death, but a heart wrenching, terrible, chilling darkness that a normal person would run from. The darkness that is so near, I choose to meet it halfway. Although I felt nothing but negative energy radiating through this darkness, I decided to enter, and low and behold it was a portal to another world, yet again. In this other world, I still feel uneasy, but I find myself looking around. The grass no longer dances, the wind stops singing, the moon falls silent, and the trees turn to grey. I am in a black and white world.

All that is in sight is a small round table. No chairs, no life, no anything. Just a small round table with a box on top. There is no light anywhere around, only right above the table with the box. As these nervous feelings course through my body, I choose to approach the box anyway. I slowly rip the tape off the top of the box that is holding it shut. Inside, to my surprise, is twenty-thousand dollars. You read that right, $20,000. I wonder whose money this is. I grab out my (you guessed it) torn up black spiral notebook and jot down my findings. As I look up from the page, the world begins to reform as it was a few minutes prior. The box with $20,000 remains.

What can I do with this kind of money? I am not even 20 years old… Maybe this 20k will ruin me. Perhaps that is why I felt all these awful things.

Life is like a game of chess. Some win, others lose. For I have come into a great amount of winnings, but does this mean I am losing? We shall find out on the next page of my little, torn, black spiral notebook.